


Lucid Dreaming

by mermatee



Category: Mystery Skulls Animated
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Gen, Lucid Dreaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 03:05:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7249561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermatee/pseuds/mermatee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur seems to have forgotten something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucid Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> Ages ago on Tumblr, someone came up with the idea of ViThur week, so I wrote this short thing, and figured I might as well post it here. It didn't have a title originally, so apologies, I couldn't think of a better one.

Last night, you dreamed that you had never met her.

Obviously, you couldn’t understand that while dreaming; there was that strange sense of everything being more or less the same, but something was different, something was throwing you off balance. It gets like that, sometimes; your dreams fall firmly into one of two categories. Wildly nonsensical, blurs and echoes and overwhelming sensations. Or this kind, where you’re aware that you’re asleep, and that your ordinary, mundane life has been meticulously recreated by your subconscious, but with one thing, always one thing changed. So, you tend to wander around your dreamscape, looking for anything out of the ordinary. You check the mirror. Are your eyes the right colour? Count the stairs, in case one has vanished or several been added. That’s happened before. Walk into town, check the currency of the change in your pockets. Wish a stranger a good morning, see if your voice sounds the same or if they understand you. Eventually, you’ll figure out what is different, and then you will wake up.

This time, you walked and checked street names and potholes in the road, and spoke to at least six different people, but still can’t find the missing piece. You return home, check your apartment again. It occurs to you that your dresser is missing something, and you rack your brains trying to think of what. What do people keep on dressers? Comb? That’s in the bathroom, next to your hair gel, and yes, it is absolutely the brand you always use, thank you very much. Cell phone? In your pocket. You illuminate the screen and wonder why you stick with this default wallpaper, a picture of a sunflower.

It’s a nice colour, you reason.

Your phone starts to vibrate and sing out your alarm tone. Why would you set an alarm? It’s got to be mid afternoon, at least.

Right. Dreaming. Sure enough, you find yourself lying flat on your back, staring dully at the ceiling, waiting for your mind to shift focus from the dream to this so you can make that annoying sound stop.

Her photo is on the screen, and you freeze. Of course. The photograph on your dresser of the two of you splattered with paint after that time she made you try paintballing, lines around your eyes from the goggles. Your phone background of her with her dog sprawled across her lap. She was what was missing.

You didn’t remember her at all, you realise in the shower with a pang of guilt. How could you forget she even existed? It was a dream, granted, but you can remember so many details in those dreams, enough to check for the smallest inconsistency. This time, your mind came up with a world in which she never existed, or at least, that you never met.

She does exist, you tell yourself as you tie your shoelaces. She exists, and she exists in your life, and just last night, she existed in your bed, snoring against your chest. She left for work early today. Tuesday is delivery day at the store. You asked her once why she didn’t say goodbye when she left, and she showed you a photo on her phone. You, sprawled out on your back, mouth hanging open, hair sticking up in every possible direction except the right one.

“See?” she asked brightly; “It’s adorable. No point in disturbing you, especially not when you’re actually asleep in a bed and not at your work bench.”

You don’t think it looks adorable, but you don’t take the opportunity to wrestle the phone off her and delete it either.

You text her a good morning before you start your shift, and hear nothing back. That makes sense. She’s at work. She exists, and she’s at work. It was a stupid dream and has no business throwing you off like this, this is the third time you’ve grabbed the wrong wrench, gone to get the right one, and completely forgotten which one you meant to use in the first place. First her, now how to do your job. Focus.

Your phone remains resolutely silent and still in your pocket, but you still glance at it occasionally. It’s pathetic, you’re pathetic, you tell yourself. You’ve let a dream fuck up your whole day and make you feel like a clingy waste of space. What, do you think she’s just going to vanish into the ether because you had a dream about it? You’re checking for a sign from her every couple of minutes, even an emoticon or something. Look at you, like a dog hoping a crumb will fall to the floor. For God’s sake, focus. You can’t go about your day stuck in your own head.

You rub your hands against the rough concrete of the wall, imagining every crack and bump and chip. Join the real world, you tell yourself, real, tangible, physical world, not this strange headspace you seem stuck in today. Lance gives you a strange look.

“You know, I like walls too. Good for holding up roofs. I don’t like them that much, though.”

Your cheeks burn. Good. Physical sensation.

“What’s up? You’ve been quiet all day. You and Vivi fall out?”

Your stomach clenches. “No.”

“I should hope not. So why’ve you been gawping at your phone so much?”

“No reason.” You’re clingy, and terrible at your job, and a liar. Lance is great, and he’s willing to listen to you even when you’re certain you bore him witless sometimes, but you don’t feel like telling this grizzled, stocky mechanic that you’re worried and sad because you had a weird dream and now your girlfriend isn’t texting you back. That you’re so creeped out by not even a nightmare, just a strange dream, that you’re rubbing rough surfaces in an attempt to snap yourself out of this.

He knows better than to ask any more questions, and you get to work on an oil change.

Your phone lies silent against your hip for the rest of the afternoon. You mean to eat lunch, but you didn’t pack anything, and you don’t feel like eating anyway. You chug another can of energy drink while Lance rolls his eyes and finishes his sandwich (“No wonder you’re shaking so much, nothing but crap in those things” he says, but he sounds more worried than angry).

By the time your shift ends, you’re focussing on a battery change, nothing too difficult. It occurs to you that Lance has mostly given you the easier repairs today, things that he knows require minimal effort on your part. A clicking-tapping noise echoes in the room, and you whip around to see Mystery. That dog’s here, and that can only mean-

“Aaaartie!” Vivi practically skips in, and slings an arm over your still tense and trembling shoulder before planting a kiss on your cheek as Mystery jumps up and places muddy paws on your jeans.

“How’s it going? Duet let me off early because I took in the delivery, so Mystery and I went for a long walk, didn’t we, boy?” She scratches behind his ears, and you feel so ridiculous for ever worrying, but no, you just can’t stop yourself.

“You didn’t text back.”

“Hm?” She glances up at you, confused, then something occurs to her. “Oh, my phone died before I even got to work.” She slips a small, soft hand into yours. “Turns out I put the cable into my phone, but didn’t plug it in at the other end. That, or my charger’s shot. I missed your morning text, though.”

She’s smiling so sweetly and God, you’re such an idiot, you’ve wasted an entire day worrying, and without meaning to, you fling your arms around her and press a kiss to the top of her head. Her hair is windswept and fluffy. It feels almost synthetic, like doll hair, although you don’t say that because you suspect it’s because she bleaches and dyes it so much.

“What’s wrong?” she whispers softly, right next to your ear. It tickles.

“Nothing. Why would something be wrong?”

“Because I can tell. Also, Lance said you’d been kind of spacey all day.”

You don’t want to talk about it, not here, but you do feel the need to tell her the truth, because you’re already a clingy neurotic wreck, and you don’t want to add “liar” to your list of shitty qualities as a boyfriend. Is there any positive spin on “I had a dream that we didn’t know each other and spent all day worrying that I’m an asshole for forgetting you in a dream and worrying even more because you didn’t text me back”?

You’re not sure. So you release her, slip a hand into hers, and ask if she’d like to come over, watch a movie, she left her toothbrush and everything. She seems confused, and tells you that she thought that was the plan anyway.

////

You ordered pizza, finally feeling hunger pangs from not consuming anything other than a cookie and several cans of energy drink all day, and now she’s lying against you on the sofa as you both watch Ringu (she insists that it’s a classic). She shifts, and presses her fingertips against your chest.

“You’ve been drinking those stupid energy drinks again, haven’t you?”

“So?”

“Your heart rate’s really high.” She presses an ear to your chest, listening intently. “Buzzing away, like a bee’s trapped in there.”

“Well, bees are useful.”

“Not when they’re stuck in your chest. You should lay off those things, they can’t be good for you.”

“I guess. Hey, Vi?”

“Mmm?”

“You know how that gross corpse kid comes out of the TV?”

“Sadako.”

“Yeah. Why don’t the people who watched the tape just put another TV facing it? Wouldn’t she just end up going into that one?”

She seems genuinely stumped for a moment. “That… could work. Actually, nah, it wouldn’t. There are sequels where she comes out of other reflective surfaces.”

“What? So why bother with the whole videotape nonsense if she can just come out of a mirror or something?”

“You have to watch the tape to summon her. Them’s the rules, I guess.”

“Well, it’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

“I know.”

You watch the movie quietly for a while, and then she rolls over to face you. She nearly falls off the couch in the process, but you grab her by the sweater until she’s lying with her head on your chest.

“You’re not stupid.” You feel yourself freeze. “You should tell me what’s up though.”

“Nothing, now. I’m OK. I am kinda stupid though.”

“Nah, you’re smart. And what do you mean “now”?”

You can’t say no to her.

“I had one of those weird dreams last night.”

“The lucid ones? Did you figure out what was wrong in this one?”

“No. I guess… well, you were missing in this one.”

“Oooh, like Taken?”

“No. As in, I never knew you. I had no concept of Vivi: The Person. I didn’t even think of you in the dream, and that sounds so shitty of me, because how can I forget you in a dream that seems totally realistic? Like, there were the same number of stairs in the building, but that photo of us on my dresser wasn’t there and I didn’t even notice.”

She’s looking at you curiously. “OK, first of all, Vivi: The Person is absolutely going to be my stage name if I ever become a pop star or whatever. Secondly; who cares? It was a dream. Most people don’t even question what happens in dreams. I know I don’t. I had this dream once where I had a rabbit the size of a large dog, and I kept throwing it carrots to fetch but it just kept eating them.”

“I know.” You smile, in spite of yourself. “You texted me about it.”

“Yeah. Definitely in my top five dreams, at least. Anyway, I didn’t question that. And besides, some part of your brain didn’t forget me. You said that the photo of us paintballing was gone, right?”

“Yeah. Also, that photo of you on my phone wasn’t there, it was some default image.”

“OK, so say you’d forgotten about me, really forgotten about me in this dream. Wouldn’t those pictures still be there, but you’d be all like “What the fuck, who’s this girl, is she stalking me or something?”, rather than any trace of me being gone? It’s just your brain messing with you. Oh, and I just remembered-” she gets up, and plugs the charger into her phone, making sure that the charger itself is plugged in at the wall. A few moments pass, then a cheery chirping noise rings out from her phone. “Good morning to you too.” She sits back down, and fiddles with your hair.

And the weight lifts so quickly and so completely that you feel as though you’ll slam into the ceiling. She knows you’ve been worrying, and she’s just killed all those thoughts in a matter of seconds.

“Is that what’s been wrong today?”

You toy with the hem of your shirt, staring at your lap. “Yeah. I’m sorry. It’s dumb. I guess it just threw me off, or-”

She kisses you, lips soft and warm and moist, and cups your hands in hers.

She always said you had nice hands.

“You spent all day worrying about a dream I wasn’t in. That’s sweet, if-”

She’s cut off as, for the first time in the movie, that ghost kid’s face appears on your TV screen, and you yelp, accidentally pushing her onto the floor. There’s a brief pause, and suddenly she’s howling with laughter.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I totally meant to warn you before that part. Goddamn, your face though….”

“Holy shit!”

“I know, right? Even I lost it at that when I first watched it. It’s OK, no more jump scares.” She calms herself down, and flops back on the sofa. “Seriously though, it’s sweet that you care enough to feel bad about what happens in dreams. Not necessary though. Trust me, we’ve met, I’m here, and by the way, so is the pizza.” She jerks a thumb towards the window. “Pause the movie, I’ll go get it.”

Your doorbell barely has a chance to ring before you can hear her voice outside, thanking the delivery guy, and it dawns on you that most of today has basically felt like an extension of the dream that left you so confused. You eat pizza with her, finish the movie, and lie on the sofa in a bloated daze until you find yourself falling asleep.

When she eventually drags you to bed, you simply dream of colours and sounds, and nothing could be more of a relief.


End file.
